


From Shadow to Shadow

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Akallabêth/Last Alliance, Other - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2002-12-31
Packaged: 2018-04-06 06:47:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4212037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Movie-based in last two chapters.<br/>A woman is haunted by the past, tries to solve her feelings by anger and arrows, and ends up as a restless spirit who haunts others. Epilogue in the Third Age. Entered in the movie challenge for that scene... I can't spoil the surprise, can I?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

'Fellowship of the Ring' and 'The Two Towers' movie based (in the end), more or less in canon with the books as well.

Year 3293 of the Second Age

This happened in a troubled time, when Ar-Pharazôn the Golden was King of Númenor, but he had been enchanted by Sauron, once his prisoner, now his closest adviser. Sacrifices of blood burned on an altar of Morgoth, and the smoke blackened the sky.

Those who are less familiar with ancient histories may understand the situation better if they hear it was as if, instead of sending Grima Wormtongue, Saruman himself had come to advise Théoden to attack Gondor.

For Sauron aimed to send Númenor against Valinór.  
Middle-Earth was more or less silent and at peace.  
Rivendell was as it always has been, a haven of song and story, rest and joy.  
On a midsummer evening, a maiden danced in a garden lit by fireflies, and fireflies only.

She danced for an audience of one, one only, her heart's beloved. His name was Gladhír, which is a shorter form of Galadh-hír, Lord of Trees. He was a nobleman of the Sindar, a relative of King Thranduil of Greenwood the Great.

The maiden was very young, only in her second hundred. Her name was Lindál, which suited her well; Song-foot is a poetic name for a dancer. She had never left Rivendell in her life.

Suddenly they hear a sound other than the music drifting from the open balconies and the more crowded, brigtly lit gardens, other than the call of any bird they knew, closer than any elf they saw.

'Eh. Ehh!'

It seemed to come from a flowerbed. Lindál pointed at it.  
'But surely no-one can hide in a flowerbed?' Gladhír asked, already walking there nonetheless. He parted the stalks gently, and gasped.  
Among the soft leaves there lay a baby elf less than a year old. The child was wrapped in a soft, ragged brown cloth. When Gladhír lifted it up, the tiny face smiled at him.  
'Looks like someone has misplaced a priceless treasure.' He spoke softly and gestured Lindál to come closer.  
'A baby! Elbereth! What…'  
Gladhír hushed her.  
'Do not frighten the child. Also, this is a very tricky situtation. No woman of Rivendell would forget her child anywhere, most certainly not in a flowerbed. The child could of course have crawled there, but nobody has announced a search for a lost baby, as ought to have been done this late in the evening. This baby was left there for a purpose. These are the 'Gardens of Moonlight', where couples spend time alone. The mother, or whoever left the child here, meant it to be found by someone who could adopt it.'

Lindál wanted to say a hundred things. She would love to adopt the baby. They were a couple too, weren't they? Maybe it was destiny, the will of the Valar, the ultimate seal of their relationship, a sign. But she didn't dare. Gladhír had sounded so old and wise… and distant.

'So what shall we do?' she asked instead.  
'We shall take the child to Lord Elrond. I am but a guest in his realm, and this child is one of his people.'  
'How… sensible. Is it a boy or a girl, by the way?'  
'Let me look… a little girl it is. Looks healthy, don't you, sweetie?'  
Gladhír tickled the baby's toes, then wrapped her in the cloth again.  
Again, the baby had smiled at him. As if it wanted to say: take me, keep me, hold me.  
Maybe he should suggest it be named Lindál. The maiden had seemed wery eager to get some credit out of this, as far as he could understand. Neither of them could adopt it, of course. He was not staying in Rivendell and she was too young to be tied up like that. How she had danced! Maybe he could write a poem for her, before he left. Yes, that would be nice. Fireflies, moon, stars, flowers and Lindál Songfoot dancing to the tune of 'Wilwarín'...

They found Lord Elrond alone in the library. He had retired there as soon as he could, they were told. He was studying a map of Númenor, of all things.

'Glahír? What is the matter?'  
He told him, then let Lindál describe where exactly they had found the child.  
'Nothing like this has ever happened in Rivendell', Elrond said gravely.  
He opened the baby's mouth and counted her teeth.  
'She is Noldorin. They are born with a full mouth of teeth, unlike you Sindar.'  
'You mean she is on solid food already?' Lindál asked, eager to show her knowledge about babies.  
'Yes, probably. You could take care of her, if you want to.'  
'Oh, I do!'  
'You understand this is a temporary arrangement, Lindál?' Gladhír asked.  
'Yes, my lords.' Lindál took the child from Gladhír and was about to leave the room, when Elrond stopped her.  
'One thing more. Name her Imladviel. A daughter of the Valley.'

Elrond did not explain.  
Lindál left, holding the baby perhaps a bit too tight, wishing goodnight only to Elrond.

 


	2. Man and Maiden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Movie-based in last two chapters.

  
Year 3319 of the Second Age.

Númenor had fallen. Even in Rivendell the ground had trembled.

And Lady Imladviel was 26 years of age.  
She lived with her parents, Gladhír and Lindál, in the court of Thingol of Greenwood the Great. There was not a soul in the forest halls as did not love her, for she was both beautiful and noble. Her hair was fair, unlike the hair of the wood elves. Both her parents also had dark hair, but it was know that Lady Lindál had Noldor in her ancestry. Her husband had fallen in love and married her in Rivendell during the years he had stayed there. There also had Imlaviel been born to them, as everyone knew.

One winter day, a guest arrived to the court. He also had fair hair, and eyes from beyond the sea.

'My name, sire, is Dion. I was passing trough your woods in a place you know as Willowhall, when I met a maiden of your court. Imladviel she said her name, and long we talked. She said her longtime wish was to see Rivendell, where she is born, and she asked me to escort her there, for her father has refused to.'

The king called for Gladhír.

'Where is your daughter, cousin?'  
'In Willowhall, visiting her aunt.'  
'Do you know this young man?'  
'No, but I can see he is of the Calaquendi.'  
'That is true, my lord. I am Dion of the Noldor of Rivendell.'  
'Tell me, Dion of Rivendell, has any woman in your family ever - lost a child?'  
'Not in the hundred years I've lived, they have not. Why do you ask?'  
'For a reason.'  
'For a reason I am here too', said Dion, and repeated his story.  
As he had expected, Gladhír refused his request, and Thingol ordered him to leave the realm as soon as possible. He would be watched, to make sure he left alone.

When Dion of Rivendell stepped out into the open, thus leaving Greenwood the Great, he shouted to the wood elves he knew were watching:  
'Never again shall Imladviel walk these forest floors, until she knows her mother's name and holds her father's sword!'

Then they understood they had been deceived and saw who Dion truly was, as if a glamour had been lifted from their eyes.

Lindál, hearing the news, grieved most because she knew her daughter had all the time known the truth about her origin, and yet not told her. Imladviel's words suggested she could see the past, even that which was hidden from others.

 


	3. Ring and a ring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Movie-based in last two chapters.

  
Year 3292 in Imladviel's vision.

_The Faceless One looks at the captured elf._  
In his hand there is a ring of mithril with a red stone.  
In his hand there is also a sword.

The elf is a woman, nobly dressed.  
She speaks.  
'This is no way to treat a Lady of Imladris!'  
'Mllad-rriss.' The voice mocks her.  
The Faceless One lifts his sword.

But he lowers the blade slowly.  
'Ell-rrronnd?'  
The blade points at a ring on her finger.  
A simple golden ring it is, so how does he know?

Tears in her eyes.

Then... then... then...  
Fire, Ice, Death, Body, Body, Mother! Pain, Born, Child. Death.

Mother.

Father?

With your sword I shall slay thee, gladly shall I pierce thy heart.  
To Elrond I shall take my mother's ring,  
for my mother's blood I take a fiery stone set in metal ice.  
A fiery stone set in mithril.  
Stone set in mithril.  
Set in mithril.  
Mithril.

Like my mother's blood, it is  
precious...  



	4. Bow and Arrows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Movie-based in last two chapters.

Year 3320 Second Age  
The winter following the Fall of Númenor was cold, and many a homeless wanderer froze dead in makeshift shelters. This was not the fate of Mithdil, "friend of mist", as Imladviel chose to call herself. Once again she posed as a man, her hair cut short, her clothes heavy and rough. She could not go to Rivendell too soon, or the disguise would be transparent as water. Instead, she practiced with her bow and arrows, hunting her food, living in a cave of snow like she saw animals do. Her appearance changed, her face became reddened like a human's, her hair was tangled and she stopped cutting the tangles away when she noticed they kept her head warm. She was not very good at leatherwork, so her clothes started smelling every time they melted beside her fire. Her eyes turned to the stars only in search for either direction or time of night; she had lost the constant pull many Noldor feel towards the West and towards Eärendil.  
She no longer spoke the name of Elbereth.  
She dwelt in nameless parts of Eriador, meeting no elves, only mortals who thought she was one of theirs. Now she said her true age, 27, and the people marvelled at her apparent youth and concluded the man they saw must be a refugee of Númenor. How else could she have such farseeing sea-green eyes?

As a refugee of Númenor she therefore joined the troops of Elendil when Arnor was founded and Gondor as well. The north she chose for Elrond's sake.

This was the time when she first heard of the Nazgûls, and recognized the Faceless One of her vision as one of them, though not the king.

Sometime in the 34th century she visited Rivendell and found out that Elrond had been engaged once to a woman named Ariel, daughter of Glorfindel. She had been captured by bandits in a mountain pass and found murdered, frozen, only the spring after the following one.

The spring of 3293.  
  
An interesting detail was that of her jewellery only Elrond's ring was missing, though everyone else in her company the bandits had robbed and let the women escape unscatched.  
  
Elrond had been heard screaming Ariel's name one winter night, saying he felt her die then, although she had already been lost for a year by then.  



	5. Elves and Mortals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Movie-based in last two chapters.

Year 3434 of the Second Age

Mithdil was in command of Elendil's best archers in the battle of Dagorlad.  
Apart from picking out small dots on the walls of Morannon that were enemy soldiers, and piercing their hearts with arrows, Mithdil always secretly sought opportunities to aim an arrow at one of the nine faceless horsemen. She knew which one was her personal enemy, as she once had known where the star Eärendil was without looking.  
Finally Sauron himself came forth, with the Nine in his wake, and Mithdil aimed her sharpest arrow. It went through the rider as through an empty cloak. She shrieked in fury, then turned to look at Sauron. He seemed solid enough. Mithdil aimed at the Eye. She never had time to shoot the arrow and find out if Sauron could thus be slain, for the Rider had noticed her and shot a Black Arrow at her.   
So fell Imladviel of Rivendell, granddaughter of Glorfindel, unknown and counted among mortal men, brave and fearless in the battle of Dagorlad. There also Glorfindel and Gladhír did great deeds, two elven lords who long ago had lost a daughter, one to the very enemy they fought, another to fates unknown and strange. They both lived on to fight another day, to hold another daughter in their arms, and to see the Greenwood turn into the Mirkwood and then Greenwood the Great again.  
But the end of Imladviel's life is not the end of her story 


	6. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Movie-based in last two chapters.

The graves of fallen heroes had been covered in water when Anduin changed course for a while, then left it all as a great marsh. In 1980 the Nazgûls had returned to Mordor, and their King roused allies everywhere: a balrog in Moria, orcs and trolls and evil men. And spirits, homeless, restless, bodiless, desperate. Mortals who had attempted sorcery and failed, maiar who had died and yet not died, and elves who refused the west and still clung to some desperate desire left from their long lives.  
Such a one was Imladviel.  
Year 3019 of the Third Age (1419 in the Shire Calendar)  
Sméagol led the way for his master and the fat hobbit. The master walked last, with the precious, and Sméagol thought it was perhaps not wise. Someone could attack from behind, or he could fall, he looked so tired. Such a clumsy hobbit. But Sméagol did not dare speak his mind to the fat hobbit. He was so suspicious, never trusted Sméagol, probably thought Sméagol was the most dangerous thing around. Yes, Sméagol was strong and smart and not clumsy at all. Wise of Sam to fear him. But they had the same master now.  


_...precious. The Precious of the Eye. Last thing I ever saw, the Eye. Aimed an arrow. For my mother's blood. Couldn't kill the Wraith. So kill his lord. Then - everything._  
The red stone in mithril. My mother's gold. To Elrond. Then walk the forest in flesh. Back home.  
Lindál, Gladhír.   
Come, precious.  
Who are you?  
A mortal.   
Isildur? No. Nobody I know.  
Such a long time. Could be anyone.  
No matter. Enemy.  
Come, look at me!   
There is no water.   
No marsh. No body.  
There is a battlefield and you are about to be crowned.  
Let me put the laurels of a hero on your head.  
Lay down your burden and be at peace.  
Everything is over.  
Thank you...  
No! Don't go! Let him stay!  
Who took him?  
None of us.  
A stranger.  
A hero took him.  
I am unworthy.  
I am ashamed.  
I....  
...Oh, Elbereth!  
So bright.  
Down there, the little flames.  
I rise.  
Be blessed and find peace  
and remain heroes to the end  
all the three of you...

  
Sam stared at Gollum in amazement. Why had he rescued Frodo? He and not Sam?  
For the ring? It must be for the ring. But still, Gaffer would call him slow as a snail when he heard of this... 


End file.
